


Saving John Watson

by Johnlocked_writer (Carokation)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fear of Death, Fluff, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Poor John, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, Sherlock To The Rescue, Struggling, Teasing, Tired John, rescue is needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-03-26 10:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19004023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carokation/pseuds/Johnlocked_writer
Summary: After a pretty normal morning at 221B Baker Street, John gets in serious trouble. Will Sherlock save him in time?





	1. It started with a bang

The day on which bad things were about to happen, started with a loud bang. John was started out of his peaceful sleep (once again) and rubbed his tired eyes. He wondered what the heck was going on with Sherlock at this time. It was 5 o' bloody clock in the morning, absolutely not a good time to wake up.

Grumbling, he stood up, grabbed some clothing to throw on and made his way to the living room. When he came to the point, where he could see in the kitchen, full of Sherlocks experients and lab equipment, he saw the consulting detective laying on the floor, clutching his head with a pained expression.

"Sherlock! Are you alright?" John asked, kneeling besides his boyfriend in worry, switching into doctor mode in no second.

Sherlock just groaned, somehow sounding annoyed even doing that, and carefully stood up, brushing away John's helpfully outstretched hand. 

“I'm fine!" he just said ungraciously, walking to his leather chair and sinking down in it. "If you would observe better, you would know that," he added in a somewhat superior voice. 

"Oh no," John thought, "he's in one of his moods, help me god!" His words and hurtful behavior made him sad, but John knew that Sherlock would make it up for him later in one way or another.. Their relationship was still fresh and they both just started to get used to it, especially Sherlock, who obviously hadn't much experience, if any at all, in being a boyfriend. Nevertheless, John was enjoying every bit of it, since he loved Sherlock to pieces. 

Seeing parts of what looked like an exploded experiment with pieces of a human lung lying around all over the floor and even decorating some parts of the wall (Mrs Hudson won't be happy), he refrained from asking what happened and instead made his way to the kettle to make tea for the both of them. He choose a herbal tea, maybe that would calm Sherlock down a bit. 

With two teacups, he walked over to his lover, squeezing one teacup in his hands and ordered him: "drink!" Sherlock looked up and pouted a bit, but secretly, he loved it when John was becoming dominant, so after a few seconds of resilient silence and looking at John with narrowed eyes, he gave in and drank it deliberately slow. 

John smiled, drinking his own tea while sitting on the left armrest of the leather chair. He waited for his good looking flatmate to finish his tea and then took the empty cup from him since Sherlock would otherwise just set it on the right armrest, where it could fall off easily. Then, John took the opportunity to lean in for a chaste kiss on Sherlocks cheek (he daren't to do more since the consulting detective still was in an unpredictable mood), before turning away to bring the teacups back to the kitchen.

When he turned back a few seconds later, Sherlock's cheeks had received an adorable tinge of red, which heated Johns heart. "Maybe," the doctor thought, "this day won't be so bad after all" 

Oh, if only he knew what was about to happen..


	2. Domestic quarrel

John stood at the entrance of the kitchen, looking at the disgusting mess that Sherlock made, pondering whether he should clean it up right now or try and get some more sleep and leave it for later. His mind said "clean it now!" (it would be much more work to shrub it off later when everything was dried), but he was so tired..

John didn't get much sleep in the last few days, since Sherlock had him running around a lot for the case they were working at the moment. 

One thing was for sure: Sherlock wouldn't do it anytime soon, he would wait until he needed the space for another experiment before cleaning anything.

Sighting loudly (Sherlock should at least acknowledge the things he did for him), he reached for a cleaning rag (a generous donation from Mrs Hudson) and started to mop up the mess. 

By the time he was done, he was ready to sleep for a week, but Sherlock had other plans. "John," he said pleadingly, as soon as the sandy blonde left the kitchen, "we need a thermos flask!" 

He stared at his boyfriend: "We already have a thermos!"   
"I need another one. Or would you want me to use the same one for body parts which you use for tea?"   
"God, no!" John exclaimed, apalled by the idea. "But why would you need a thermos anyway?" he wanted to know. 

"I need one for my experiments. It's essential to figure out the next piece of the puzzle. I would explain the details, but I'm afraid you won't understand them. We need to move on with the case!" Sherlock answered. 

John blinked, too tired to argue with Sherlock, knowing that he would loose anyway. You can't win an argument against a genius. "Well then, go and buy one. I'll go back to sleep now, if you don't mind." he said, yawning. 

"John, wait! I need you to get one now! I have to.." "Not now, Sherlock! I need at least another two hours of undisrupted sleep, before I'll do anything at all! You've chased me around the whole week! I'm not like you, I don't bloody function without sleep!" John tried to argue, getting a bit loud. 

To his surprise, Sherlock's glare was getting softer and he was giving in: "I see. I'll wake you in two hours. Sleep well." 

Relieved, John tousled through Sherlocks curls (he never got enough of doing this) and gave him a sweet kiss on the lips, followed by a softly mumbled "I love you!" Then, he went to get his much-needed sleep. 

Exactly two hours later, Sherlock was lightly shaking him. John groaned, but eventually got up, appeased by Sherlock nuzzling into him. If he wanted, Sherlock could be so lovely.. Like now, he was placing sweet little kisses along Johns neck, which made him shudder with pleasure. But way too soon, Sherlock stopped. 

John looked at him, dissapointed. "You'll get more, when you get me the thermos," Sherlock, the sly old dog, grinned like a Cheshire cat. 

Groaning again, but knowing that he was defeated, John started to dress himself. 

A little later, after some quick breakfast, he was ready to leave and buy that damn thermos.


	3. Blindfolded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for a heart-clenching and dramatic ending! 
> 
> I hope that you will like this last chapter of my Johnlock shortstory and please feel free to leave lot´s of comments and give feedback at the end!
> 
> Your Johnlocked writer ;)

John was leaving 221B Baker Street, closing the door behind him.

He turned left, in the direction of the nearest shop which sold thermos flasks, but before he could do more than two steps, pain exploded on the back of his head and he started to fall, while strong arms grabbed him with force from behind and began to drag him. He wanted to fight and cry, but his mind was already misted and in a matter of seconds, darkness consumed him.

The first things John registered, as he was slowly regaining consciousness, his eyes still closed, were the facts that his hands were tightly bound behind his back and a blindfold was covering his eyes, that his head was hurting quite a bit from the blow he received earlier and that he was still outside, somewhere on the Thames by the smell and noises. He could feel a cool wind chilling the skin on his upper body, so someone must have taken off his jacket and jumper before they tied him up. Also, at least two men were standing at his sides, each gripping one arm of him strongly, keeping him upright and hindering him from fleeing.

He tried to remain calm and think of a possible way to get away, but his hopes of escaping by his own were definitely low, practically non-existent, going by how closely he was guarded and how well restrained he was. He thought about shouting but quickly dismissed the idea since there didn´t seem to be other people in the area apart from his kidnappers and they clearly made sure he couldn´t escape easy. 

But he refused to panic, since his hope was, as always, that Sherlock would once again find a way to save him. He had never let him down when John had been in danger, so why would he now? John trusted him with his life, quite literally. Instead, he listened closely to the background noises, trying to figure out more about his surroundings and kidnappers. 

Apart from the distant noises of people walking around, cars driving and some sounds which he guessed were coming from ships on the Thames, he couldn´t tell much. Sherlock would be much better at deducing his surroundings, but John needed still more clues to find out his exact position.

As if on cue, heavy footsteps neared and stopped right in front of him. At the same time, the pressure on both of his arms was increased until it felt like the steel hard grips were nearly crushing his arms. After some seconds, in which John kind of felt like he was being observed closely and his nervousness rose slowly higher (despite all pretending to himself that he was calm), he heard the harsh voice of a man speak to him: 

“Stupid boy. You really should have stayed away from Sherlock Holmes instead of running after him and writing this foolish blog, tsk, tsk.” 

Then he heard a faint rustling and something clicking, before the man spoke again with a more raised voice, but this time it sounded like he faced away from John and a few steps to the side.

“Sherlock Holmes, the great detective,” the criminal, whoever he was, started, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not so great now, huh? Missing your little friend? He´s right here with us, don´t worry.” 

The voice was sounding more rude by the second and now made a small pause, probably for dramatic purposes. 

“Well, on second thoughts, maybe you should worry. It´s not like we care for any friends of you.” 

John felt himself being kicked in the stomach after these words. He grimaced from the pain, but stood stoically still and upright like the soldier he was, not wanting to show any fear, especially since all signs pointed towards this little speech being filmed and transmitted directly to Sherlock. 

“Quite the opposite, you have angered us one time too much, I´m afraid,” the dark voice continued, stretching the vowels of afraid in a ridiculous way, empathising it as if he were sorry. 

Sadly, this very endearing speech did nothing to ease the growing feeling of uneasiness in John´s belly. 

“And now, your deeeaaar short friend here has to pay for it.” 

The man and his companions laughed cruelly, sending chills down John´s spine. 

Suddenly, he was yanked forwards by the two men holding him. Once more, John internally cursed about the blindfold depriving his sight. How could he prepare himself for anything they were going to do if he didn´t even saw it coming?

The criminals let go of him much sooner than expected. More than that, he received a hard push on his back that made John stumble further onwards. 

Before he had regained his balance, the ground under his feet abruptly vanished, sending him   
F  
A  
L  
L  
I  
N  
G

While his panic reached unknown heights and his adrenaline spiked, there was a loud and wet SPLASH, knocking all air out of him, before he   
S  
A   
N  
K  
down in the bloody cold water, trashing around with his legs, struggling to get back to the surface. 

While still sinking deeper, he suddenly knew with a painful clarity and certainty that he would never make it. Not only were his hands bound, but he never had been that good of a swimmer and being thrown underwater was disorientating enough without being blindfolded. He would drown before reaching the surface. 

Struggling against the growing need to breath, he was helpless against the steady but not to be underestimated current of the Thames, which began to drag his body down the river. “At least, this is giving me some sense of direction,” John thought with very black humour, feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen and abundance of adrenaline, still treating water desperately. 

The need for air was overpowering now, it was only a matter of mere seconds until he would give in to it and some more until he would lose his consciousness. 

Just as the first gulp of water found his way into his respiratory system and the last ounce of power was leaving him, he felt a strong hand grab his arm. Faintly, with his last shreds of consciousness, John felt himself being dragged upwards. The following seconds seemed to last years, but somehow, he managed to not give in to the slowly enclosing darkness before he and whoever was dragging him broke through the water surface. 

Coughing violently, shivering and gasping for air, he solely relied on his rescuer to keep him over the water, since he had no power whatsoever left for even trying to do anything but breathing. Well, actually more coughing than breathing. 

Dimly, John registered being lifted on a gently rocking boat and then gently being lead to somewhere close and sat down while jet more people were holding him upright until he was sitting in a stable position, against a wall. This time, though, John was happy about it, since he felt that he otherwise would have dropped to the ground like a stone. He also heard some frantic talking, but it was hard to understand with his ears full of water. Then someone nestled with his bonds and his blindfold was removed. 

John blinked. The Thames’s water burning in his eyes made him regain his sight only slowly. Multiple shapes around him eventually became clearer, while he coughed some more, spitting water and shivered massively in the cool air.

Right in front of him, a water dripping Sherlock regarded him with worry in his intensive greenish blue eyes. Behind his boyfriend, he saw Greg Lestrade and a female medic. Turning his head, he noticed that the wall behind him belonged to a small cabin, in which the captain of the boat had to be.

The medic was bringing two bright orange shock blankets, one of which Sherlock snatched out of the woman´s fingers and wrapped it tightly around John´s bare upper body, completely ignoring the second one, which was obviously meant for him. The medic tried to drape the remaining blanket round the consulting detective, but he stopped her and waved her away, so she just laid it next to him on the ground and retreated, giving them a bit space.

“John! Are you all right?” Sherlock urgently asked him, holding Johns face with his long and slightly shaking cool hands. In any other situation, John would´ve revelled in the concern that Sherlock was radiating. Even since they were together it wasn´t often that Sherlock showed his caring so openly.

“I´m ok,” he croaked, smiling as much as he was able to at the moment, “thanks to you!” John added, feeling deep gratitude towards his boyfriend for saving him once more and just in time. 

“Oh, thank god!” Lestrade, who has been watching John over Sherlock´s shoulder, chimed in and John smiled at him shortly, before turning back his attention at Sherlock, who was still looking concerned.

John carefully wiggled his right arm out of the blanket wrapped around him (which wasn´t easy given that his arms felt halfway numb) and laid his hand on Sherlock´s check, copying his stance at least with one of his hands. His wrists were badly bruised from the bonds and it hurt a bit to bend his hand at the needed angle, making him nearly wince, but that didn´t stop him.

Sherlock gasped a little when John´s ice cold hand touched his left cheek, but didn´t turn his head away one inch and continued to stare into John´s eyes.

“Saving you was the least I could do!” his deep voice (although higher at the moment than usually) sent a much needed feeling of warmth trough John´s body. 

John wasn´t completely satisfied, though. Sherlock had been in the cold water too and was still dripping water. He didn´t wanted his friend to get sick because of his selfless actions. Even if Sherlock looked undeniably sexy with his clothes clutching to his body like a second skin, showing every muscle, not to speak about the strands of black hair hanging into his eyes. He started to wiggle himself further out of the blanket to reach with his free hand for the second one besides his boyfriend, but Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stopped him in the move, rearranging the blanket around him. 

“What do you think you are doing, John?” he asked outraged. “You need to get warm! Your temperature is too low! Who knows how long it will take to get to the hospital.”

“Sherlock,” John sighted, followed by another small coughing fit. 

“Do you ever think about your own wellbeing? You need to get warm too! Please wear the other blanket!” John pleaded in a raspy voice.

“Hrmph,” Sherlock wasn´t exactly pleased with wearing a shock blanket. But as John´s pleading eyes continued to stare at him, he fulfilled his wish and draped the blanket carelessly around him in one swift, elegant move.

“Happy?” he grumbled. John answered him with a much brighter smile than before. “Happy,” he confirmed and emphasized it by pulling the sexy man closer to him (his strength was slowly coming back now) and giving him a deep kiss with tongues and all, wet and hot at the same time. They kept devouring each other until it was time to leave the boat and then again during the drive to the hospital, too happy to be back together to care about any other people around watching them. Well, at least Lestrade was shipping them anyway.

When they were at the hospital, Sherlock told him how he was able to be at the right time in the right place. It turned out that Sherlock had been secretly tracking John with a device in John´s left shoe since quite some time. Luckily the criminals, who belonged to a wide spread drug dealing gang, which Sherlock was slowly picking apart and who therefore had been very pissed of (and secretly scared of) the consulting detective, had just removed John´s jumper and not also his shoes.. John was so damn lucky to have escaped death so closely once more. Sherlock really was his personal guardian angel. He would never forget how he fished him out of the Thames.

Much later, when they were back in the comfort of 221B, John fell into his armchair like a stone, feeling the exhaustion of the day getting at him. Meanwhile Sherlock ran back downstairs, quickly informing Mrs Hudson about what happened, since there had been no time for that earlier, they were too occupied with other things, like kissing each other, since John´s rescue. 

Knowing her, she would insist on making tea and dinner for them, which Sherlock surely had in mind, knowing that John would need a good and proper meal after his ordeal.

Sure enough, Sherlock and Mrs Hudson entered the flat not much later, the latter carrying a tea trey. Sherlock went to stand behind John, gently placing his hands on his shoulders, while Mrs Hudson, the good soul of Baker Street, hurried toward them, regarding John with a mixture of worry and relief.

“Oh John, dear, are you well?” she asked, pushing a cup of tea into his hands, “you have to watch yourself better!”

John smiled warmly at her, reducing her stress. “Don´t worry, Mrs Hudson, a bit of rest and I´ll be back chasing criminals on rooftops with Sherlock in no time.”

Mrs Hudson turned to Sherlock then: 

“Sherlock, you have to let him enough sleep, he must rest properly before you two start running around London again.”

Sherlock, while massaging John´s shoulders and neck, pouted at her. 

“Sherlock!” she said, in a warning tone. 

John couldn´t see it, but he was positive that Sherlock rolled his eyes at their house keeper. 

“Yes, Mrs Hudson,” he gave in, a bit begrudgingly. 

It sounded like he was the old and grumpy Sherlock again, but John knew it better. He had seen behind his façade, discovering the weaknesses and feelings (yes, feelings) of the not-really-a-sociopath genius. 

He knew now how deeply caring Sherlock was about him and that he would watch him closely the next few days, making sure that John would completely recover before he would chose new cases witch required a lot of legwork. Well apart from chasing the drug dealers who kidnapped John, which would without question be his first priority now, but he could well enough do that without his blogger, John bet that he would even ask his brother for help with that, however grudgingly. 

When rejecting a case, Sherlock would play being bored with it, while really being thoughtful about him. And John couldn´t love him more for it as well as for all his other perks and odds and all of his rough edges as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don´t forget to comment! ;) ;) Cheers and bye bye :)


End file.
